


The Pup

by OrangeAmere



Series: The Wolf In Him [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Actually is a kind of happy ending, And a baby aziraphale, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad doctor, Beards (Facial Hair), Bilbon-socket will win over the world, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Car Accidents, Cardigans, Cheating, Come Eating, Comments and kudos are my rewards, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doctor/Patient, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dry Humping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fandom will win over the world, Fear Play, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Free smut, Gen, Gentle Sex, Gore, Graphic Description, Gratuitous Smut, Heart removal, How Do I Tag, Hump, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I want a personal michael sheen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Multi, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Or at least my attempt at making a reader genderless, Orgasm, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Other, Panties stuffing, Power Play, Psychological Torture, Public Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killers, Serial killer wears cardigan, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Sweaters, Tell me if i should add any tag, Thanks to my beta reader the best wonderful and always surprising BS, Torture, Underwear, Water, You're important and loved, genderless reader, handjob, i hope you will like it, implied cunnilingus, it's important, no panties, not happy ending, please take care, tag is hard, take care of yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeAmere/pseuds/OrangeAmere
Summary: - Don't be repelled by the numbers of tags, I just don't want to accidentally trigger someone! -Now, you are locked away in Martin Whitly's basement. Will you escape from it or will he be the end of you? Maybe the Surgeon has other ideas in mind...(It's not an Omegaverse, despite the name. This is simply a symbolic title!)
Relationships: Martin Whitly/Original Character(s), Martin Whitly/Reader, Martin Whitly/You
Series: The Wolf In Him [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663909
Comments: 26
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii~ Here's the next episode of my serie "The Wolf In Him". This isn't requiered to have read the previous fic before reading this one, but you really should. ;)  
> Don't forget to comment and kudos, and tell me if you have any idea or suggestion you'd like to see in the Fic. :D  
> I hope you'll have a good tiiiiime~

You died.  
You died there, in this man's basement, put into endless sleep by a blue poison.  
You died. 

It was the thought crossing your mind as your conscious spirit came back and that a loud, sudden gasp filled your lungs with oxygen as if it was the first time. 

You died and came back to life. You had felt yourself collapsing into darkness, for last sight the red sweater of your tormentor. 

But it wasn't what had actually happened. Martin Whitly, the doctor who had saved your life from a monstruous accident months ago hadn't wanted to kill you that day. 

The memories rushed back in. How you had met him again at your work recently, how it had probably been his plan to lure you in his house so he could lock you away. 

You looked around, trying to see through the darkness. The lights, neon white lights on the ceiling weren't turned on anymore, but you had the instinct you were still in the same horrible basement. Maybe in an another room. It was some kind of closet. 

Martin Whitly. The married man, with two kids and a pretty house. The talented doctor, saving lives everyone else thought lost.  
A serial-killer who had tortured you and almost ended your life, not slicing your throat open only for the voice of his son to have called him. 

How long since you had passed out from the drugs he had given to you? There was no way you could know, but you were still naked, and shuddering from cold. 

Very slowly, you started to move. Your eyes had grown used to the shadows and you started to notice that there was no furniture in your room, no objects. Your muscles were aching and still weak, and thirst had dried your throat raw. With the tips of your fingers, you caressed the walls. Stone, grey, cold stone. The same one covering the floor, muting the noises out. 

-"Help.... Help..." 

Your whimper, your attempt at screaming was pitiful. But even if you had shouted like fireworks explodes, nobody could have heard. Howewer, just as the room refused to let the sounds entering or leaving, it increased the tiniest of your gasps, the noise of your heart beating. 

It was maddening. 

-"I don't want to die.... I don't..." 

Bringing your knees closer to your chest, curling up in a vain hope to save body's heat, despair raced through you. 

For what seemed forever, you were left on your own with your thoughts and panic. It could have been seconds, it could have been centuries.  
But when you heard a clicking noise, the shrieking complain of the door being opened, the relief you felt was equal to the terror in your belly.


	2. Chapter 2

Light penetrated your cell. Your eyes, used to the darkness were forcely closed with a wince and a groan. You just had the time to notice a shape in the doorway. Tall, authority radiating from him. The isolation had increased your senses and your fear made you feeling smaller than you were.

The noises of his footsteps was enough for your ears to start ringing and you curled up even tighter, wanting to crawl away. But your naked back was already pressed against the wall. There was no escape.

-"Look at yourself." Martin said gently, leaning over you as you finally opened your eyes again. 

His gaze was shiny with the same kindness you had loved. 

-"Please... L-Let me go..." Your dry voice whispered. 

-"You must be thirsty." He ignored your pleading, opening a bottle of water he had brought with him. "Open your mouth."

Stubbornly, you turned your head. It was physically painful to refuse water your body craved for, but you couldn't know there wasn't poison in the bottle. 

-"(Y/n)..." He sighed. "Don't make me force you."

You threw a glance a pure hatred, that you regretted immediatly. With his free hand, he grabbed your face.   
He was so warm, sending goosebumps through your skin.

Using his thumb, he pressed with strenght on your jaw. It hurt. Badly.   
In seconds, you had opened your mouth only for the pain to go away.   
As he started to force you to drink, he praised you. 

-"Hush, you're doing great. It's good for you. You need it." 

Unfortunatly, you started to panic. You felt like you were choking, not managing to swallow everything Martin was giving to you. You coughed, spilling water all over your already frozen body. 

-"Hush, it's over now." Martin took away the bottle, and stroked your shoulder reassuringly, guiding you until you had calmed down. 

-"Why... Why are you doing this... To me..."

-"Don't speak. It'll hurt your throat and exhaust you."

He sat down on the floor. You tried to shift away but you were weak, tired and he was... So warm.   
The man lifted his arm, offering an embrace you should have refused. He was your tomentor, the one who had kidnapped you.   
But you leaned against him, very slowly. 

Your heart was racing from the fear laced with an another sentiment you wished to push away. His arms shielded you. His chest was strong as it was soft. The caresses of his fingers on your skin were soothing as they were firm.

The comfort of being held with affection, his beard resting on your hair, his regular breathing pattern triggered a wave of sobs. You cried out all the pain and stress, and he kept hugging you like if you were the most precious being in the univere. As if he treasured you.  
He held you until you had relaxed. 

And his voice, rumbling inside his chest whispered gently:

-"Daddy is here. Daddy will take care of you."


	3. Chapter 3

Since you had no way of keeping track of the time spent in your cell, you had decided to count one day per visit of Martin. But still, there was an eternity of sensory deprivation between them. It sent your mind into the edge of madness, ending up thinking over and over about your tormentor and the life you used to have. 

Martin came back to you with a smile and a bag of sugary treats. They couldn't be healthy but you hadn't eaten anything since you had been kidnapped and the doctor was probably trying to get your sugar levels up, to feed some strenght back into you. 

You refused to eat, pushing the man away with both your palms and spitting out the candy he had slipped between your lips. You expected him to be angry, but he simply left your cell. 

It happened twice before your hunger was devoring you and that you gave up on your ego. Martin fed you, slowly, patiently, before giving you water. That time, you stayed calm and didn't choke. And then he sat down a few inches away from you, offering a hug. 

Exhausted of your situation, you accepted the comfort of his warm, protective body. He didn't slide his hands down on your naked skin and the only caresses he gave you were on your hair and arms, chaste and pure. As a lover, or as a parent. 

Between his visits, you started to miss him. At first, you believed it was the sensory input, the light of the corridor entering your dark cell or even the fact that he slowly fed you back into proper amount. But the truth was that you genuinely missed him and the ways he cared for your well being.  
It became a routine. Martin unlocked the door, took care of you and spoke, praising you or doing small talk, and you stayed silent, even if obediently letting him. Everytime he called himself your Daddy, it sent shudders in your belly, making you both sick and aroused. Not even once you accepted to answer, to push him even deeper in his madness. 

Nothing broke the ritual, and the lack of any changements made you mixing up in the numbers of time he had opened the dreaded door. You ended only remembering the events. The time he told you his argument with his wife, how Malcom was brilliant, or even the moment he entered with clothes instead of a tray of food.  
It wasn't much, but you were eager to cover yourself, hiding your naked body away from his gaze. And even if he had been the one sliding his own oversized sweater on you, even if you had blushed from humiliation as he had guided your legs inside some soft and comfortable panties, you were happy to own at least them.  
When he left, you cuddled yourself in a corner of the cell, breathed in Martin's scent on the sweater

Visit after visit, he sat farther from you. It started with a few inches, until someday, he was sitting just against the door. 

-"Come on, (Y/n). Don't you want Daddy's hugs today?"

You were strong enough to get up now, but it didn't feel right doing so while Martin was on the floor. Therefore, you crawled to him, to his arms, looking down in shame and to avoid seeing his wicked smile. You understood what he was doing and why, but it didn't stop the effects on you, it was working. Your sanity was being torn apart and you struggled to not fully lose it. If it wasn't for the scars he had left on your thigh, that you touched nervously when your brain was questioning the reality, you could have thought he wasn't a criminal. 

Martin didn't hurt you since that one time. On the opposite, he was worrying over you, feeding and warming you. The tormentor was slowly becoming a savior in your mind and you knew that if you didn't act quickly, you would end up forgetting the reality. 

What happened on thay day? What energy pushed you to act? You couldn't define it but the idea had been growing over hours and hours of darkness. The Surgeon was stronger than you, but you would act on surprise. You weren't moving much usually, curled up on yourself in the same corner of the room. So when he unlocked the door once more, calling your name gently, he couldn't have expected you to be standing up on the side. 

You pushed him, and as fast as your trembling limbs let you, you closed back the heavy door, locking Martin in. 

-"(Y/n)!" You heard him shouting, as you ran away. Your skull was pounded by your blood, filled with adrenaline and fear. 

Your heart was hammering inside your chest as your naked feet brought you through a long corridor. It wasn't leading to the same basement you had been tortured in, as you had initially thought. Were you even in the same house that you had seen? Certaintly, but it was bigger than you thought.

There was a door, an exit at the end, that you tried to open. But it was locked as well. Turning around, you noticed a big suitcase, a box, as well as the voice of Martin getting closer. 

He had managed to unlock the door. He was going to find you. Fear raised in your throat, choking you. You knocked violently, desperatly against the metal, hurting your fists. You screamed.  
And the bitter taste of regret landed on your tongue when you felt the man behind you. His sweater almost brushing against your back. 

His left hand grabbed both of your wrists when you tried to pound again. His voice, full of tension, of anger and disappointment was enough to silent you.

-"You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. I've been too lenient on you." 

His right hand slid down your side until it grabbed your waist roughtly. Bruising your skin, sending pain rocketing inside your hips. 

-"At this instant, I want to hurt you, (Y/n)." He caressed your hair, but this time, it made you nauseous. "Very badly... Why do you try to push me to my limits?"

His right hand started to caress the scar he had made on your thigh, while his manly body forced yours against the door you had wanted to reach and open so much. A broken whimper left you when you felt his desire invading your personal space, the pent-up need in his trousers. 

-"First, I thought about adding you in my Quartet. But no, no. You were too good, too special to be one in four. I would have killed you..." Martin whispered heavily against your ear, his beard teasing your neck. "I should have. I can't simply keep people here. My wife could figure it out." He chuckled, with an innocent smile as if he was joking about weather. Seconds later, he was serious again and that version of him scared you the most. "And the only way you thank me is by trying to escape. No. It won't do, no." His grip tightened, until you shrieked from pain. 

-"Please, M-Martin..." Your voice was hoarse. Had it been so long since the last time you had spoken?

-"I said no! You're not going to leave me!" He shouted, loudly, full of rage. 

You flinched at the sudden outburst of violence from him. Martin had always been very controlled, calm, and this part of him was terrifying. Tears gathered in your eyes and your whole body started to tremble. 

-"D-Don't hurt me, don't..." You begged mindlessly, with a tiny voice as if it could make him even angrier. 

-"You force me to." His voice had softened but stayed on the edge of madness. Without saying anything more, he moved you, dragging you in the room until the box you had noticed earlier. At the sight, the realization hit you and you screamed. An instinct pushed you to thrash around, struggle even if it was pointless. 

-"No! Don't lock me there! No, God, please!"

You were almost thrown inside the solid chest. Before you were locked inside complete darkness and silence, you heard Martin's voice.

-"This is your fault. You are punished for your mistakes. Never... Listen to me (Y/n). Never again you will see the lights of the day. You're mine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is a particular chapter, since there's Smut in it. I put it between * so you can skip it if you'd like. Also, I tried to keep the Reader as genderless as possible in the Fic so everyone can enjoy it. ^.^ And I wanted to thank everyone who leaves me comments and kudos. It means a lot to me and it helps me to keep updating!

Martin pulled a dusty chair and sat down on it before helping you to sit down on his lap, releasing you from the box. Your sweater had gone up a bit, revealing the color of your underwear but you didn't mind this. Your whole focus was on the man and your forgiveness. 

Martin's left hand stroked your hair gently, bringing your face closer to his chest. Before you buried your head in his warmth, you pressed a quick, shy kiss on his cheek, blushing. 

-"I've been an idiot... But this punishment was awful." You whispered. A tiny voice protested, argued it was insane to play along his madness. But it was so tiny that you barely noticed. Whatever the doctor felt for you wasn't love. It was obsession, it was sick. 

-"(Y/n)." Martin's voice promised softly. "I won't let anything bad happening to you, and I won't punish you if you don't betray me again."

You clutched on his clothes needily. 

-"Don't leave me alone, Martin. Don't. It's terrifying."

His right hand gently squeezed your knees before caressing your thighs absently. 

-"Hush, it's all over now."

**********

The repetitive motion of his hand on your legs triggered tingles inside your belly. Your pupils grew darker the closer of your intimacy his fingers were. 

-"Da-"

-"You like it." His low voice cut off your sentence, as his index finger brushed lightly on your underwear, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

-"Yes."

-"Good. Look into my eyes." The man ordered.

And so, you did. Plunging your gaze into his, while he continued his ministrations. You were sensitive. Since you had been kidnapped, you hadn't done anything to relieve the ache in this part of your body, not undoing the knots frustration and desire built up.

Your lips found Martin's. He cupped your intimacy, giving it one, single squeeze to show he owned you, before pushing down your panties and touching your bare sexuality with his skilled, doctor fingers. You heard vaguely him praising you along of his own breathing's pattern changing. He played your body as he played his tools, bringing you in minutes whenever he wished. 

You didn't dare to close your eyes despite your body tensing up, your muscles preparing for the fall, the instant you would collapse.   
The climax. 

Burning inside your belly, going up to your chest, a loud moan was soon followed by your complete silence. Your eyes still in Martin's, you saw the smile stretching his lips. He was genuinely satisfied to pleasure you.   
And it was it. An intense shudder going through your body, pleasure rocketing inside you until the deep relaxation wrapped you up in a comfortable bliss.

**********

Finally, you could close your eyes, the Surgeon holding and rocking you in his arms. 

-"You have been so good for me, (Y/n). So, so good."

-"Don't... Leave." You muttered tiredly. 

-"I won't... I won't, love."

But you were already asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, this is a special chapter because it's Smut. Except that time, there's no Reader! I hope you will enjoy it anyway, I just thought it would be good to give to (Y/n) some relief before starting the darkest path of this story... ;) Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments, they help me to have the will to keep writing this. ^.^ I hope you'll enjoy it, and if you have any idea you'd like to see here, go ahead and suggest them to me. ;)

-"Doctor Whitly! Jessica! Such a pleasure to see you here!"

Natacha Nelson's voice filled the huge living room joyfully as she hurried to the couple, greeting them.  
Martin didn't remember how they had met her but it didn't matter. She had planned this reception and asked for everyone powerful in New-York to come over.  
Recognizing a few politicians, artists who supported them or simply rich bankers, the doctor could see it had worked. He didn't feel out of place, though. He was used to that kind of people, being a part of their world. 

Skilled surgeon, successful man, Martin Whitly was charming everyone with his kind smile and softness. He grabbed two cups of champagne on the closest tray, offering one to his wife. While drinking a sip of it, he studied their reflection in the mirror, surrounded by golden edges.

While Jessica was radiant in her white dress, revealing teasingly the beginning of her thigh, he was wearing an elegant black suit, and a bow, perfectly adjusted. 

-"How many lives did you save this week?" The young server asked him, with a seductive wink. 

-"The number doesn't matter, does it? Are you working here for a long time?"

Jessica had already released her husband's arm, to do small talk on a leather sofa. Martin glanced toward her from time to time. It wasn't that he was jealous, but he didn't like not knowing exactly where his chosen ones were.

His children had stayed at home, taken care of by a baby-sitter. (Y/n) was locked up in the cell. It brought a smile to his lips, remembering happiness when he had brought a cushion to his victim for only furniture.

-"Doctor Whitly?" The server had left, replaced by an endless row of faces and identities he had no will to remember. Still, he was perfectly controlled, kind and listening to their nonsense. 

There was laughing, hands brushing his arms, and bad medical jokes. Nobody could have known the man they were sharing a chat with wore death on his hands. 

Howewer, his thoughts kept drifting back to (Y/n). It had taken a lot of time and efforts but he had gained the trust he had hoped for.

Which meant he could no longer hurt his victim, be rough without any reason. The bond was too weak to bear any harm yet. It would, eventually and he could finally push (Y/n) how far he wished. But not yet.  
And it was frustrating. 

Martin watched the people gathered in the living room. The couple close to the fireplace, the woman laughing with Jessica. The politician being discreetly caressed by a paid compagny. He needed to do something wild, but none of the persons he observed were worth to be a part of his masterpiece, to be killed by him. 

-"Jessica." The doctor approached to her, and talked with tension in his voice. Her eyes lightened up with worry. 

-"What's going on...?"

-"Follow me." He grabbed her wrist with strenght, his nails scratching her sensitive skin. In a hurry, he pulled her in a corridor. They could hear the noises of the reception, even distinguish discussions but they were alone. 

-"Martin?"

-"Shut the fuck up." And with his mouth, he closed his wife's. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't love making, it was savage. His strong, thick body used its weight to pin the woman against the closest wall. 

-"Martin. We can't... Not here." She protested weakly, but her dress was already lifted up, for Martin's left hand to remove her lace underwear. She heard the fly of his trousers, and she gasped. 

"We'll be caught. We can't..."

-"If you keep complaining, we'll be indeed noticed." He groaned, hardening already. "Turn around." And without giving her time to do so, he grabbed her waist and changed her position, forcing her breasts against the wall. 

In one thrust, powerful and deep, he entered her. The woman moaned, back arching against the chest of her husband. He nibbled her neck, and her long fingers, the red-painted nails slid inside his wild salt and pepper hair. 

-"Martin," she said in a heavy breath. 

There was no answer. The kind doctor was groaning, low and dangerous, each thrust pushing her to the wall, each thrust rough, almost hateful. The urges he had to hold back were allowed to go out, to be expressed through the motions of his hips. 

Jessica thought she was wanted and desired without knowing it was (Y/n) taking every inch of Martin's fantasies at this instant. He wished he wasn't in that too proper and clean corridor. He wished it wasn't his wife he was fucking, and between his moans, he almost slipped and praised (Y/n).

In minutes, it was over. Martin spilled inside the woman, with an animal sigh, before leaving her on her shaky legs. 

-"M-martin." She gasped. It was obvious it hadn't been long enough for her to reach her own climax, but the words were too shy. Her entire body was radiating from need, from the pleasure throbbing in her low belly. 

The doctor closed his trousers, making a gesture toward the door separating them from the reception, dismissing her timid request.

-"I'm done. We can go, now." 

Jessica's red cheeks showed her trouble easily. 

-"What about me..."

Her husband's fist was closed around her underwear. She let her tongue wetting her low lip, eager and curious as he approached her. Jessica's eyes widened, when Martin, looking deeply into her pupils, slid the panties inside her body.

-"No removing until we're back at home." With a softening gaze, he added. "And I'll make sure to offer you what you enjoy the most. My beard rubbing your thighs, and my tongue..." 

And Martin left her alone, confident as if nothing had just happened, resuming his evening and the light discussions.


	6. Chapter 6

Martin had met the young man for the first time a few years ago, when his father had required a hip surgery. Back then, he was merely the son of David Franklin's, a teen boy like many others. But the doctor had noticed in his behavior the first hints indicating a difference.

Second surgery was for the boy, instead of the father. He had broken his arm, falling down the stairs of his university. Martin was too clever to not see it had been an arm broken on purpose.

The third and final time was Billy Franklin's damning mistake. Recognizing the surgeon, he'd called him, eagerly talking about how he had turned 23 recently, and how he had just obtained his LSATs. And Martin could see through the shield of his clothes—the secret. The reason that had pushed the father to break his own son's arm. How feminine the boy had become, with his limbs, long and indecent. His brown hair almost reaching his shoulders—outrageous.  
With his black eyelashes, lewd.  
With his hairless chest that Martin held under his scalpel.

Convincing him to follow hadn't been complicated. The young man lacked so much of a fatherly figure that he had agreed immediately to the suggestion. On the way to the house, he ranted about his dream of becoming a civil right lawyer while giving side glances to the doctor. Maybe he hoped for some kind of validation, perhaps even sexual gratification.

The boy, lithe and pale-skinned, only received cold metal under his naked body, straps forcing him still, and the burn of the scalpel cutting his chest open.  
The tears Billy Franklin cried were his broken hopes.  
His screams were the useless pleads and the reality he couldn't face properly. He was going to die.

Not before having suffered. He hadn't been allowed any tea or drugs, Martin didn't want chemicals to mess up with his experiment. The chest opened wide, held that way by metal tools using in heart surgeries, the doctor observed the living man's heart beating.

Billy was no longer begging, the pain being too much to express. He couldn't see his own organs, but he felt his heart, gently tapped by the gloved finger of a man he had trusted.

-"Such a pretty model we have here. healthy, beating quickly... Are you scared?"

How couldn't he not be?  
Martin observed the scene he had created for moments, sometimes tapping the sensitive organ and smiling with bright joy.  
He knew exactly what he wanted to try but hesitated about starting it, almost afraid of being disappointed.

And then, Martin did it. He cuts through the arteries, the vena cava, and disconnects veins before removing the heart. He places the organ on Billy's stomach, the thing throbbing and beating outside of its owner.  
The young man's eyes widened but no word left his lips during the endless eight minutes and thirty six seconds he remained alive.  
Not once Martin had looked away from the horrific, gruesome death; he was fascinated by it, by the uncontrollable spasms of the body, the blood filing the ribcages having nowhere else to go, the lungs, useless without blood to carry oxygen.

Billy's heart may have loved much. But the instant before the light in his eyes disappeared, Martin saw pure sadness. Did he feel like he had wasted his life? Did he have any regrets? The answers had been in that gaze before it had become forever empty.

The doctor went to the sink, removing and throwing his gloves in the small bin next to him before washing his hands and taking off his blood-tainted clothes.

You knew nothing of the body laying a corridor away from your cell. When he opened the door, you simply saw the man, radiant even happier than usual. 

-"How is my darling?" 

You crawled to him, your gaze plunged into his with a smile brightening your face. Thinking about your past life started to become complicated. You lost the details, barely remember you used to enjoy being free. 

-"Daddy." You purred, seeing him crouching to reach your level and caress your hair, the features of your face. You pressed a kiss on his lips. From chaste, it turned hungry when the fire in your groin hit you. 

During his last visits, he had touched you, caressed you over your panties. Never asking anything in return, he never brought you back to a climax and you didn't dare to do it yourself, despite the constant need keeping you awake. You were afraid of him through your fascination for him. It wasn't helping you to think past your physical sensations. 

But this time, as his strong hand cupped once more your intimacy, while the other wrapped your nape in a hot grip, as he brought you back to the edge of a mad pleasure, you whined, squirming away from his touch. It was too much. 

-"What's wrong, (Y/n)?" His voice rumbled in his chest, with the balance of sweet and dangerous. You didn't know he had just ended a life in the most horrible way, but if you had, it wouldn't have changed how blushing your cheeks were, how your pupils were wide and filled by desire.

-"I need... Nnngh, please." You begged, your thighs trembling from the tight knot in your belly you needed to release. 

-"Mhm. I don't know. It hasn't been very long since I gave you a cummie..." He hesitated, while releasing your intimacy, starting to caress the rest of your body, your legs and sides. "I don't think you actually need it."

A broken whimper left your lips and you desperatly clutched onto his strong shoulders. 

-"Please! I need it so bad that it hurts!"

There was a low chuckle in Martin's chest making you shuddering, before he caressed your crotch.

-"True, you are drenched, soaked in lust." He said with a mocking smile, and a superior look. He wasn't desperate, he wasn't moaning and squirming like an animal in heat. No, it was just you. The thought of your debasement humilated you deeply, hurting your ego.   
You lowered your head, only to notice a bulge in the doctor's trousers. 

-"Can I...?" You asked, pointing toward it. After all, you hadn't the opportunity to pleasure him yet. Martin grabbed your wrists to stop you from trying anything before asking the worst question he could.

-"Yours or mine?"

-"What?"

-"This is your pick. Yours, or mine, (Y/n)?"

It was torturous. You wanted yours, craved for your orgasm and your body was in agony, but you longed to touch him, feel him, observe him falling apart under your fingers. After a long hesitation, you saw him parting his lips. Before he could speak, you answered in a hurry:

-"Yours!"

It seemed to please him, as he opened his trousers after having released your wrists. As you tried to pull his underwear down, a black boxer tightly hugging his girth, he guided your hands inside it.

-"You will touch, but you won't see it. Look into my eyes." He ordered firmly.

You could have cried from the frustation. Staring inside his hazel eyes, you saw through them the pleasure you weren't allowed to look at. You felt inside your hands, rubbing against your fingers and palms the hot penis, manly and thick.   
Your grip was shy and awkward, but he still reached his climax in minutes, offering you a feral growl you'd forever remember in your fantasies, and the sticky mess spilling inside his underwear and onto your fingers.

-"I should... " You suggested but he muted you with an animal tone:

-"Close your eyes."

As you did, he guided your hands to his mouth slowly. When he slid your index finger between his lips, you knew what he was going to do. He sucked gently, cleaning himself from your skin.   
It was absolute torture. You had even been denied the privilege of tasting him, of keeping his semen on you, of just obtain a glance of it. 

Martin allowed you to open your eyes, only for you to face your clean hands and his trousers closed again. Nothing of his orgasm was left but his deep breaths, his relaxation. Noticing the sadness in your eyes, he gave a light, playful pinch on your ankle. 

-"(Y/n), what do we say when we receive a treat?"

-"Thank you.... Daddy." You whispered.

-"Good. And since you have been so good for me, I'll offer an another treat." It was unexpected, your eyes widened in joy as he kept talking: "You'll have your cummie. Only if you show me you really need it and so... You can cum if you do by humping my thigh."

You nodded eagerly. You had spent the last half hour against him, resisting the urge to rub your groin against him, your hips squirming by instincts. Martin held laced his fingers with yours, both your hands pressed against the floor while you climbed on his leg, both yours on every side of his thick thigh. You humped as if there was no tomorrow, looking up at the ceiling, chasing after the inner firework that would free your from your desires.

Martin watched with bliss. It wasn't much different from the young man he had killed. The corpse was certaintly still warm, only a corridor away. Still, his fate had been close to (Y/n)'s. He had played with both their hearts, opening their chest either by blade or by sweet words. Both were dead somehow. Both belonged to him forever. 

This last thought crossed his mind as you came, moaning loudly, your whole body shaking from the high of your orgasm. There was spasms, as for Billy Franklin's death, there was noises, there was life burning as candle. Consumed and collapsing, as you became limp into Martin's embrace.

It had been such a good day for Doctor Whitly.


	7. Chapter 7

You would remember this day forever. It was written inside your memory, but it could have as well been written inside your DNA. It had seemed to be a day like all the days before. Inside the darkness, curled up and waiting for Daddy. 

On your tongue, Martin only had that name now. Daddy.

Except that instead of being any other day, it had turned horrific.

You heard the door being unlocked, but your joy was immediatly replaced by terror when you heard the awful noise of several people filling the basement. The intense light of a flashlight aimed at your face.

Their worried screams, as they shouted at their colleagues, surprised to see someone alive in the middle of that death trap. 

You heard them approaching you, but you didn't hear your own shrieking calls, helpless pleads for the only man able to protect you. 

-"Daddy!"

You saw but didn't record the horrified expression of the policiers. You struggled as they carried you outside, but you weren't strong enough to protest for long. 

They thought they were saving you but you lived it as a kidnapping, as heart breaking torture. You were forced down a stretcher, doctors hurried around you.   
By the windows of the expensive house, blue, red lights winked at you with sarcasm. There was people outside, journalists waiting to catch an image of the monster living here. 

And then, you saw. A woman carrying a girl in her arm, a boy, older than you remembered watching closely his father. And you saw him. Martin. In his red sweater, smiling even as policiers were taking him away. From you. 

You screamed and he turned his head, as if he only noticed you now. His lips shaped in your name, but you didn't hear him. He was already forced outside.

This is always at this moment you wake up from your nightmares, remembering it had happened twenty years ago. After having been rescued, you went through several medical tests. It had taken months for your body to fully recover, but the doctors had confessed Martin had taken care of your physical health.

Your mental one was in dust. Crushed, destroyed, you kept calling him Daddy, having a breakdown everytime someone told his actual name. Your memories of your past life were shattered, and there was gaps you hadn't filled yet. You had forgotten how to live. After the constant sensory deprivation, the smallest things could be too much for you. The noises of the city, the cars in the background, the lights, the overwhelming amount of possibilities and activities. Everything was too much. 

You had to remember he was no longer here to feed you by his hand. Sometimes, you could spend hours just waiting for Martin to come back but he never did. 

The hospital staff didn't tell you immediatly how long you had spent in his basement. They were expecting a breakdown when you would learn it had been two years since you had gone missing. But there was no break down. You froze. 

Five years after the Surgeon had been arrested, you wrote a book about what had happened to you. Your therapist had said it would good to you. It didn't change anything to the pain in your chest, the trauma, and the fact you were always unable to call him Martin.   
But you gained enough money to no longer need to work as a server. People were always curious about horror. They wished to look inside the darkness, but no matter how long they would look, they couldn't truly understand before having fallen inside it. Even your psychiatrist couldn't understand. 

Twenty years, and you were in front of his cell's door, focusing on your breathing like you had been taught, in a hope to not have a panic attack. Your therapist, your friends, everyone you knew and who mattered to you had said meeting the Surgeon again was a terrible idea. 

But they weren't you. They didn't see your nightmares at night.  
Pushing the door, gathering your courage, you hoped it would free you to see him locked up.

Martin Whitly was back to you. He turned slowly, releaving his wrists held in steel handcuffs and the chain keeping him harmless.  
He hadn't changed. You felt a sudden need to be on the floor, to watch his height dominating you, to apologize for sins you didn't commit. 

You didn't move, though. And Martin's lips stretched into a sincere, genuine smile. 

-"Oh, (Y/n)..." He breathed out, taking one step closer, wanting to see you better. You were breathless, frozen.   
Tears rolled down your cheeks without your consent and after twenty years, you finally could say the words. 

-"I've missed you." 

You had always felt guilty of those feelings, and even if your therapist kept repeating it was a normal aftermath of your trauma, you knew she was wrong. Your nightmares weren't about your time locked up. They all were about the moment you lost Martin.   
Yes, he had been the one fucking your mind. Yes, you were aware it was sick.   
But he was the cure of the poison he had injected to you. 

Martin was surprised, but quickly hid it. His smile turned wicked, then softened again. 

-"Me too, (Y/n). Why don't you come and give Daddy a hug?"


End file.
